Date: Thu, 11 Feb 2010 16:51:25 -0800
From: Oregon Bear
Subject: Being My Valentine
This story contains graphic descriptions of adult male to male gay sex. If
this is offensive to you or it is illegal for you to read, please leave
this site.
Copyright 2010. Oregon Bear.
Oregonbear9@gmail.com
Being My Valentine
Tonight, we will go to our favorite cafe, and enjoy a drink. He
will have a gin and tonic, and I will have a good single malt Scotch and
soda. We will linger over our drinks; enjoy the fireplace, and the soft
light of the bistro style cafe. We will talk about what we did today, his
work and my work. And we will talk of art and music, and friends, and
books, and poems we have loved. And sometimes, we will talk without words,
using our eyes and a nod and a move of our face, in a way that only we will
know.
The waiter will tell us the specials, which will sound fabulous,
but we will each likely order our favorite. He will have steak and I will
have fish. We will order a good wine, probably a red. And, when dinner
comes, we will change our conversation and talk about where we have been
together in our lives, and where we want to go. Oh, not geographically,
but metaphorically, spiritually, romantically. We will look deep into each
other's eyes as we sip our wine and enjoy first the salad and then the main
course.
And, as the wine will nearly be gone, we will split a dessert,
probably a chocolate truffle cake, and sip the thick, rich coffee the cafe
is famous for. He may also order a brandy and I will finish the wine.
We will lapse into a comfortable silence, before we head back home,
driving leisurely down the road, and soon find ourselves back home. He may
light a fire, or we may just sit on the couch together, with a single
candle lighting the room, and talk some more of our love and the joys of
sharing our lives together.
And we may slip into the hot tub on the deck, and watch the stars
in the darkness, and discuss the phase of the moon and the constellations
of late winter, and look for meteors. We would have stripped off our
clothes and grabbed a towel, before we went out on the deck, the night air
cold against our skin, and our feet chilled by the cold boards of the deck.
I'll watch the sculpted curves of his muscular butt flex a bit as he slips
into the steamy water of the hot tub, and watch his nice fat cock dance a
bit over his furry balls, before he slips into the steamy water. I'll
watch the water move up his hard, muscular legs and furry crotch and then
up his furry belly and the sweet contours of his chest, water drenching his
furry armpits and splashing a bit into the thick whiskers of his beard.
He would be bringing a candle out with us, and the night breeze
will cause it to flicker a bit, moving the shadows and lines of light on
his face, and the drops of water on his moustache and beard.
Then, he'll watch me drop my towel, and step into the tub, my own
cock swollen a bit, a bit hungry, knowing that he is watching me, and
watching my cock sway a bit above my balls. He knows me well, my lover.
He has tasted and licked and had my cock in so many ways, so many times.
He knows my every moan, my every twitch and gasp, as his tongue and lips
and the tough calluses of his fingers. He knows my cock, my balls, and
every tiny bit of the tip of my cock, and the curves and hairs of my
crotch.
He knows how to fire up my nipples and when to lick and when to nip
and when to suck, and how I moan when he lights my fire. He brings me
higher and higher, and he knows when to wait and when to keep going, going,
until I thrust hard into the depth of his throat, exploding and exploding
again, until my balls ache, until that spot just behind my balls, at the
root of my cock, tingles and aches and almost hurts, drained and spent, and
almost, but not quite, hurting.
And, he watches, looking at my chest and my butt, my balls low and
swinging in their furry bag, and everything else, until I, too, am neck
deep in the water, until a bit of the water and the steam gather in my
beard, sparkling a bit in the light from the candle. And, I soak up his
watching, knowing that he knows me better than I know myself. Knowing that
he has spent hours and days touching and feeling and exploring me, sending
me waves and pulses of pleasure, as his fingers and lips and the muscles of
his arms and the hairs of his thighs, and the soft skin of his cock and the
furry wrinkles of his ball sac and every other part of him has known me,
again and again.
And, he knows of all the ways I move and breathe and sigh and
sweat, as he explores me and touches me, making love to me, again and
again, nearly every day that we have been together. He knows more of me
than I know myself. He has felt and heard and seen and tasted me in every
way, each time I've risen to the end of all that I can take, every time
I've spurted and shot, every time I've cum and cum again, my armpits
suddenly drenched in my sweat, my balls tight and hard in their furry sac,
my cockhead red and wet and slippery and hard, as my seed flies and flies
again, my chest heaving and sweaty and hot.
We will sit there, silent, feeling the heat move into our muscles
and into our bones, feeling the tensions of the day turn to rubber and then
be gone, until all that is left is the heat and the unwound, untied feeling
of nothing but bone and muscle and skin and heat, until all that is left is
just that. And, the poisons and dirt of the day and the week are
forgotten. And, all that matters is simply being there and being together,
watching the light flicker against the skin of my lover's face, and his
thick neck, and the top of his hard, thick shoulders.
And, I will lean back, feeling the heat of the water high on my
neck, feeling the water soak out the last of the tensions at the bottom of
my skull and the top of my spine, until all that is left of me is heat and
wet and flesh that has finally relaxed and finally turned to feeling alive
and loved, turning to just being.
The candle will putter, low and nearly out, and I will hear him
sigh, watching his thick, hard chest move out and then in, his thick
nipples rich, wanting to be tasted and sucked. He will move up a bit now,
his meaty shoulders and arms outstretched on the rim of the hot tub, steam
rising above his chest, almost hiding the thick forest of his armpits, now
dripping with steamy water, and the hard line defining his pecs sliding
down from his shoulder, and under his nipples. The thick pelt of his curly
chest hair will splay wide across his chest, the red nipples almost bright
against the background of his fur.
Water will drip down through that warm, wet hardness of his muscle,
down the center of his chest, the place I like to lay my head and listen to
his heart beating hard and fast, just after he's cum, my head riding fast
and deep on him as he gasps and finally stops moaning and whispering my
name, his seed still spurting, one last time, into my hand, or my ass or
however we've finally ended up, in the many ways we have wrestled and
stroked and pumped and thrust.
And, he will look over at me, catching my eye, knowing what I'm
thinking, as he follows my eye to the center of his chest. He knows me too
well, this lover of mine. He knows what I want before I even can begin to
think of what I want from him tonight. He knows me oh so well.
His hand will move into mine and he will give it a squeeze. And, I
will squeeze him back, taking in the calloused skin of his fingers and the
muscles of his thumb and his fingers, the ones that have held me and
stroked me and brought me, again and again, to the height of what it means
to be a man. And, my cock will remember and will swell a bit, remembering
those hands and remembering him.
And, I will hunger again, hunger for him in my arms and in our bed
and hunger for him to run his furry face slowly down my chest and my
stomach and deep into the thick hair of my crotch and the hardness of my
aching manhood, and around my balls and around my hole, and everywhere he
wants to be. And, he will look at me now with the same hunger, the same
look for what I do to him. And, I will hunger again, again to take my time
to feel him, touch him, and stroke him, to feel him rising hot and slick
and hard in my hands and against my lips, and inside my hole.
I will want him to sweat and moan and thrash around, his lusty
sweat spicy and hot in my nose, his chest sticky and sweaty and hot. And,
the sweat around his balls will be a different hot, a different spice, rich
and fetid in my brain. And, I will want to smell that slick, hot stench of
his exploded cum wet and drippy and drying a bit, drying into a sticky
glue, tacky and messy, hair and sweat and skin. And, on a good night, a
night when I will be especially horny, I will want to see a strand or two
of cum slide, sticky and smelly, into his beard, tangling the wiry hairs of
fur, sticking whiskers and cum against his skin, until it all slowly dries
in the heat from his fully fucked self.
The candle will flicker again and then the light will end. The
last of the molten wax will cool quickly in the night air, and all that is
left to light his face will be the outlines of the gods of the night sky.
We will watch them look down on us, their weapons and their companions
silent in their dances, their world slowly, oh so slowly turning around
above us.
His hand will move down now, out of my fingers, and down to my
thigh. And, I will know we are just beginning our dance tonight, the dance
that lovers have danced forever. And, I will know that I am loved and that
I am also a lover. And, that is all I will need to know.